It was early morning when Alan began to stir. He forced his eyes open, feeling weakness throughout his body. Every muscle ached, and his head throbbed as though it had been pounded by a relentless storm. The light streaming in was blinding, making him flinch. As his vision adjusted, he noticed that his hand was being held. Turning his head slightly, he saw Lucas asleep, his fingers wrapped tightly around Alan's own.
Despite the pain weighing down his body, Alan's heart swelled with an indescribable warmth. It was surreal to see the man he loved, the man who once claimed to despise him, now sleeping beside him, holding him so tenderly. If this was a dream, Alan didn't want to wake up. He didn't want to return to the cold reality where Lucas regarded him with indifference or resentment.
Feeling the dryness in his throat, Alan tried to reach for the glass of water on the nightstand without disturbing Lucas. Carefully, he attempted to pull his hand away, but as soon as he moved, Lucas's grip tightened involuntarily, causing Alan to wince.
Lucas jolted awake at the sound of Alan's discomfort. Blinking rapidly, his gaze landed on Alan's pained expression. His eyes followed Alan's arm down to his own hand, where his fingers had pressed too hard, leaving faint red marks on Alan's delicate skin. A pang of guilt stabbed through him.
"I'm sorry," Lucas murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep.
"I'm fine," Alan whispered weakly.
Lucas reached for the glass and handed it to Alan, watching closely as he struggled to lift it. Without a word, he guided Alan's hands and helped him drink.
"Thank you," Alan said softly after finishing the water.
Lucas set the glass aside. His expression turned serious as he asked, "Why didn't you eat anything all day?"
Alan hesitated, his cheeks turning a shade darker. He glanced away, embarrassed. "I… I can't cook."
Lucas blinked, then sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Damn it. I forgot to ask you. I should have prepared something before leaving." Frustration filled his voice. How could he have been so careless? He had assumed Alan would take care of himself without considering whether he even knew how.
"Lucas, please don't apologize. I should have told you earlier, but I forgot. It's my fault. I'm sorry for troubling you," Alan said, lowering his gaze, though his heart felt lighter knowing Lucas cared.
Lucas stood up abruptly. "Let me make something for you."
Alan's eyes widened. Did he hear that right? Lucas… cooking for him? He stared in disbelief as a small, unguarded smile graced Lucas's lips before he left the room.
Alan's heart raced. Why was Lucas being so kind? Wasn't this the same man who always kept him at arm's length? His fingers clenched the bedsheet as conflicting emotions churned inside him.
Please, don't give me hope. Don't show me kindness only to take it away later. If you can't continue being good to me, don't give me happiness that will eventually be stolen away. Alan bit his lip, trying to suppress the tears threatening to spill.
…
Lucas returned with a bowl of warm soup, but as he entered the room, he stopped short. Alan was crying, silent tears slipping down his cheeks.
"What's wrong? Where are you hurting?" Lucas asked, his voice edged with concern as he placed the tray down and moved closer.
Alan quickly wiped his face, shaking his head. He didn't know how to put his emotions into words.
"Then why are you crying?" Lucas asked again, his voice dropping into a deeper, rougher tone, unintentionally startling Alan.
Alan trembled. "L-Lucas, I…" His voice wavered as fresh tears blurred his vision.
Lucas frowned. His own voice had come out too sharp, and he realized just how fragile Alan was. Unlike himself, who had learned to endure pain in silence, Alan was easily wounded—emotionally and physically. Lucas sighed and reached out, pulling Alan into a warm embrace, his hand gently stroking his head.
"I'm sorry," Lucas murmured against Alan's hair. "Please stop crying."
Alan's body stiffened at first, but the warmth of Lucas's touch slowly calmed him. He allowed himself to sink into the embrace, listening to the steady beat of Lucas's heart.
After a while, Lucas pulled away and set the bed tray in front of Alan, helping him sit up. He watched as Alan attempted to lift the spoon, his grip still weak, resulting in soup spilling onto the tray.
Lucas chuckled, shaking his head. "Such a baby," he muttered teasingly, taking the spoon from Alan's hand. Without a second thought, he scooped up some soup and brought it to Alan's lips.
Alan hesitated for a moment before parting his lips, allowing Lucas to feed him. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. As he ate in silence, his gaze remained fixed on the man before him, memorizing every detail—his furrowed brows, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the way his hands moved with care.
At that moment, Alan thought that maybe, just maybe, being sick wasn't so bad if it meant having Lucas's attention, even for a little while.